


Sanglots

by lammermoorian (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby's Panic Room, Detox, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lammermoorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and a not very coherent Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanglots

**Author's Note:**

> angels think in metaphors and lowercase

human love is not a rational thing, therefore castiel cannot understand it. he loves his father the way plants love sunlight, the way earth loves water, the way the night loves the stars. they are because they are. castiel is because he is. he cannot love like the son, or like the winchesters. human love terrifies him, repulses him, keeps him grounded outside the panic room as he listens to sam scream.

dean cannot bear to listen. what is this love, that so strong a man to resist michael crumbles in the face of his suffering brother? what is this love, that sam cries and screams and tears at his skin like spiders, punished for heroism? how do they do this? how can they go on? castiel does not understand.

he does not let sam out, but he sometimes he will keep watch inside of the iron, rather than outside. sam is pale, shaky, hair black with sweat, face wet with tears. there is spittle, and vomit on his shirt, the sharp smell of urine and blood radiating off of him, glassy eyes staring unblinkingly at the metal grate above. he does not jerk at castiel’s touch, lets the angel wash his face without complaint, or shame, or thanks. 

he is aware, of course. “why are you here, cas?” he asks, his voice ground raw and thin as dust. when sam’s mouth is clean, castiel presses his own to it. “is it because you love me?” sam chokes on the foul word, a still, heavy presence lodged in his throat that no one can remove. (no one but dean, but dean’s blood is more alcohol than water at this moment, shaking fingers and too fast heart and michael tapping away at his brain)

(castiel can see lucifer’s fingerprints on sam’s soul - mine, mine, mine, go away little brother, let me play with my toy, mine)

castiel used to think, if he ever fell in love, it should be by degrees. he should be able to watch it happen, like an opus under the fingers of an artist, the music of his love painted across the canvas with ink, or blood. it should have been by degrees. castiel doesn’t remember how it happened. “yes.”

sam laughs again, spitting bile. “this is love?”

human love is washing the blood from his mouth because his brother is too scared to do it for him. human love is letting him yell and moan and curse until his voice walks up and leaves him screaming silently, because at the end of the day you’ll search the whole world to find it again. “yes.”


End file.
